


Bloodlust

by Dr_Sixx



Category: Mötley Crüe, The Dirt: Confessions of the World's Most Notorious Rock Band Book - Mötley Crüe & Neil Strauss
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Cages, Cannibalism, Cannibalism Play, Cannibalism Puns, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Hallucinations, Hugs, Katana, Knifeplay, Knives, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Near Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Torture, Schizophrenia, Serial Killers, Shotgun, Sleepy Cuddles, Stalking, Surgery, Sweet Tommy Lee (Mötley Crüe), Torture, Touch-Starved, Touchy-Feely, Yandere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:00:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28650915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Sixx/pseuds/Dr_Sixx
Summary: Mick Mars, America's most renowned detective bas spent years dissecting the ever developing case of Dr. Lee, America's most infamous serial killer. Who knows what the doctor has in store for him? Love is certainly not what Mars expected
Relationships: Tommy Lee/Mick Mars
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. Case Open

In the late hours of night, far after one should be asleep, a lone detective works tirelessly with his red string and cork board.

"I'm so close, Sixx! I can feel it!" Mick Mars slams his hands down on the smooth surface of his mahogany desk. A styrofoam cup of black coffee jostles in its juxtaposition to scattered papers and broken pencils.

The dark liquid, chilled during the long hours of the detective's excessive overtime, held precious caffeine. The only force keeping Mick's heavy eyelids from dropping like anvils.

Mick feels as if he's running on a motor. He knows he probably won't be able to remember all he learns tonight the following day. But he isn't about to stop anytime soon. A breakthrough is teetering on the tip of his tongue, waiting to leap out in front of him. All 

The detective is running on this self-instilled adrenaline, diligently digging for his reward at the cost of good rest.

Nikki Sixx, the receptionist at the station, rubs his eyes with a groan,"It's two in the morning. Just go home."

Mick grins triumphantly pumping his fist,"I'm the best damn detective in this entire state, Sixx! If anyone can catch him...IT'S ME!"

Mick Mars, the best detective in the entire state of California, is once again plowing through his biggest case yet. A foul horror threatens the country, begging for thwart by the hands of deductive justice.

The small man turns back to his cork board, which displays a huge red web. Entangled within it are police sketches, photos, written reporters, anything he could find in his quest to detain the subject of the case he'd been assigned four years ago.

Nikki lets out one of his trademark sighs fiddling with his glasses,"You won't be able to do it if he takes you out when you fall asleep on the scene..."

Mick snatches his cup of coffee, loudly slurping the cold, bitter fuel. He needs it. He can't sleep. Not yet. Not when there's a light at the end of the tunnel, creeping within his sight.

He slams the beverage down, growling, eyes glimmering with artificial energy and overwhelming determination,"Don't question my methods, Sixx!"

The receptionist sighs, a near silent one, laced with defeat and veiled by his voice,"This isn't healthy, Detective..."

"And he isn't healthy for the goddamn country!" Mick smashes the now empty styrofoam cup between his hands before walking to the corner of the room to make what had to be his dozenth serving of coffee that day. 

He takes a long, obnoxious swing, tiny rivers of brown-nearly black liquid trailing down his neck. Nikki has to grimace,"Detective, I think the amount of caffeine you've been drinking has gotten to your mind."

Mick slams the cup down, hissing when its contents slosh onto his hand, sprinkling across the corner of a few papers,"I don't care! You know damn well that I've devoted years to get to where I am in this case! I can't stop now! Not when I know the answer is right here in front of me!"

Nikki releases another one of his trademark, heavy sighs, adjusting his glasses as he returns his gaze to his computer screen. Of course this would end up as an all-nighter; Detective Mick Mars was notorious for sacrificing his sleep to complete his work.

The receptionist rubs the bridge of his nose as he thinks of facing Mick's "grumpy old man" attitude. But, as much as he wishes to, he knows it's pointless to try and persuade Mars into going home.

He pulls up the culprit's ambiguous case file,"What are your findings so far?"

Mick sways his hips, one arm held firmly across the lower region of his chest while the other, supported by the former hand, twirls inky hair in tight spirals," Well...I know he uses daggers most frequently though some autopsies suggest he uses lethal bites to the throat as well. He then eats his victims like an animal. Kills them and eats them where they lay. Other times, there are no bodies to be found. Only blood stains remain. I am unsure what he does with those. If this fiend is a 'he' that is."

Nikki takes a bite of an apple. Chewing with his mouth full he inquires,"What have the locals said?"

Mick grimaces at the disgusting, squishy sound of Nikki's chewing,"Many have said they heard the sounds of....repulsive eating near the crime scenes...others report high pitched paradoxical laughter...."

Nikki lets out a gasp of mock offense, dark eyebrows nearly disappearing under his voluminous bangs,"Detective, if you're going to mock me I suggest you do so directly!"

Mick chuckles, eyes glimmering with mild amusement through his obvious exhaustion.

He plucks a small photo from the cork board turning it over in his hand, a bar shaped highlight traveling across the glossy lamination. 

It's barely decipherable, like the photographer had snapped it out of a moving vehicle. Thick blur overshadows the depiction, indicating the occurrence of quick motion during its taking.

The photo appears to show the setting of a dark forest, twilight peeking from behind the thick, lush, evergreen trees. The camera indicates the photographer is on the ground.

Mick scratches his chin, muttering,"Maybe he fell...or...more likely...he was knocked over..."

A portion of a humanoid figure stands over the lense of the camera, wielding what appears to be a dagger. The blade glints in the growing moonlight, effectively obscuring any distinguishable facial features.

The person is tall and slender with long, curly brunette hair. They wear what appears to be a typical lab coat and safety goggles, both garments stained with blood.

But, Mick has never seen anyone who fits the details he can make out. If only he could make out the vile being's face. He liked to imagine the killer to be an ugly ghoul, like something out of a child's night terrors.

Perhaps they would have horrible warts and crooked teeth like a witch, or large ears like an elf. 

Maybe they would have soulless eyes like a ghost or a scratchy voice like an old hag.

Mick sighs as he turns back to his red web,'Whatever that monster looks like...they must be condemned...It's my job to rid this world of the horrors brought by this...hardly human creature...'

He picks up a thick, well-worn dossier, ice blue eyes thoroughly scanning its contents as he leafs through it with calloused fingers.

The name, or rather, alias of his adversary mocks him on the tab of the folder, stark black against the creamy, manilla background.

'Dr. Lee.'


	2. Contrast

Life is something special. It happens but once before its host ceases to be. Life should be cherished, lived out to the fullest.

People all have a purpose. People all have a destiny. People all have significance.

We eat, live, breathe, and play together. We, humans, are social creatures, dependent on the support of one another so that we may grow ever stronger.

A Cheshire cat's grin slices through the darkness like a crescent moon on a starless night. It gleams, a dagger for its protection against these false words.

But still, the cat has to smile. It's funny, really. Humans are weak, incompetent creatures, desperately grappling for assistance from their hive.

See, in reality, humans are like bees. They work to serve in return for protection, mindlessly like worker drones. They are nothing without the hive.

Yet, unlike the striped insect, humans are quick to throw their hive mates in front of danger to save themselves. What pathetic, irrefutable creatures.

The cat sighs, padding over the sodden forest floor, long legs stirring up the fallen leaves as he carries his freshly killed prey to his den.

He decides to stop and rest a spell, lick the wounds he received during his hunt.

The warm cadaver is laid against a large, arbitrarily placed rock, coagulating blood climbing over its granite surface.

He licks his lips, watery saliva collecting under his tongue and dribbling down his chin in a thin river of drool. The carcass smells so fucking good, taunting his senses with its sweet, appetizing aroma.

He chuckles, the dark and deep sound carrying itself through the dark shadows lacing the trees around him. A lone critter scurries somewhere in the shrubs, frightened.

The cat looks up at the sky, admiring the moon as she bathes his home in her light. Her children, the stars, aiding in guiding him home.

Human eyes glow with the white luminescence, revealing the seemingly civilized being the savage cat masks himself with.

"I do so enjoy gazing at you, my dear mother moon...," the young man sighs wistfully. He closes his eyes, luscious, dark hair flowing in the light breeze.

A few minutes of this peaceful silence leaves him feeling refreshed. He opens his eyes and returns to his kill, lifting it up as one would their injured lover.

Lanky arms curl around the cold body like living willow branches, lifting it up. The skin is cold stone, but he knows there's a warm delicious reward beneath it.

"Oh my god! Don't fucking eat that!"

"Why not?! You know it's my favorite!"

Vince Neil, Mick's roommate and owner of a small surf shop, angrily plucks the large bar of dark chocolate out of the detective's hands.

Mick whimpers like a sad puppy and hops, arm stretched up as the blonde holds it out of reach," Come ooonnn, I swear, I need it for work today!"

"You literally haven't slept in over four days straight, Mars! You look like a raccoon after a fucking gas chamber experiment!" the surfer exclaims, gesturing pointedly at the heavy bags that had taken root under the detective's eyes. Those blue eyes, usually icy and alert with curiosity, are now dull and lifeless, like that of a corpse.

Still, he just had to get back to his precious whiteboard. Discover what he could before Dr. Lee threw him in the loop again. He had to admire the elusive killer's skill and dedication. With the meticulous fashion in which he mutilated his victims and his rather distinctive sounding attire. How did he conceal his identity so well? It was as if he was a spirit, a trick of the night rather than a real person. But as a detective, Mick knew he had to be someone in this town based on the highly condensed Dr. Lee style kills taking place here. It was the whole reason he'd moved here after all.

He can't waste a moment, not even for sleep," Vince! I'll be fine! I need to stay awake and make progress before Dr. Lee strikes again!"

Vince flaps his arms screeching," You are literally wearing boxers on your head!" He plucks the underclothes off of the detective's head, pinching the waistband between two fingers. He holds his nose with his other hand.

"Hey! Those are clean!" Mick pouts, snatching up the chocolate bar Vince had dropped in taking his boxers. He stuffs half off it in his mouth, glaring childishly at the surfer as he chews.

Neil uses a hand to block his view of Mars' mouth," Eugh, you have chocolate falling out of our mouth!"

Mick blows a raspberry, brown splattering Vince. Vince shrieks, shortly cut nails clawing at his Hawaiian shirt in a frantic attempt to clean the disgusting mess Mick points childishly, cackling," You look like you got nailed with projectile shit!"

"That's a fetish," Vince deadpans, still scrubbing. The detective scrunches his nose, groaning in revulsion at the mental image his friend produced," Aww come on! Why'd you have to remind me that exists?!"

Vince sighs and just takes his shirt off," I'll never get this off you motherfucker. Thanks a lot. Anyway, what are you even planning to do? Wander around the woods and hope you run into Dr. Lee?"

The thought briefly plays in Mars' naturally deductive mind: What would he do if he ran into his target? Surely the deranged creature would lunge at him without so much as a second glance. Then again, there was so much to learn about him. Perhaps Mick could start carrying some rope or a tranq dart with him....

Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, the raven opts to lay on his couch and put a thin blanket over him, abandoning the half-eaten chocolate bar. He stares at the ceiling of his and Vince's small, studio apartment.

Small cracks crawl across the plaster, creating patterns and shapes like clouds in the sky. Mick rarely liked to spend time outside. But as a child, he used to find works of art in the blue endlessness above him.

'Does Dr. Lee ever watch the sky? What does he do when he's not wreaking havoc? Maybe...maybe if I knew...I could finally gain a breakthrough....,' Mick's thoughts weigh heavy on his mind, pushing his protesting eyelids down. The days of work and sleepless nights finally catching up to Mick, he feels his conscience melt away into the darkness, pulling him into a much-awaited slumber.

The next morning arrives much quicker than the detective anticipates, harsh afternoon light abusing his eyes through their lids, turning them vermillion. He pushes his tongue past his lips, drawing it back in to moisten his mouth before he sits up.

Mick reads the clock displayed on his nightstand," One o'clock...huh...I was sure I would sleep later...oh well, that gives me plenty of time to do some extra research!"

Vince's blonde head pops up from the bed across the room," Why do you always talk to yourself in the morning...'s fuckin' annoying...."

"Well, it's not like I can't hear you masturbating to the thought of a certain secretary in the shower," Mick retorts with a smug smile. He then proceeds to roll his hips and moan loudly," Ohh...ohh yeah....ooh you're so tight-"

Vince screeches in a mixture of horror and embarrassment and starts beating Mick with his pillow," STOPPIT! IT'S NOT LIKE THAT! I JUST MET SOME CHICK WITH THE SAME NAME!"

The detective cackles hysterically, kicking his legs to fend off his attacker," V-Vinnie! No! H-Have mercy!"

"NEVER!" the blonde smacks Mick again.

The raven grins evilly," I accept your declaration of war!" He grabs his own pillow as they engage in a swordfight of feathery plush.

After what feels like hours, the two are laying side by side on the floor, panting and sweating, huge grins on their faces. It had been weeks since Mick had been so carefree, felt so light and bouncy. Vince always knew how to make him let loose, relieving his tightly wound nerves.

Honestly, if someone glanced at the pair, they would never think they were best friends. Mick: dark, quiet, and calculating, just didn't seem to be compatible with the pretty, blonde, surfer, Vince. But really, that stark contrast was why they were friends at all. They kept each other balanced; yin and yang.

Mick smiles at his companion," Y'know...I'm real fuckin' lucky to have you as a friend, blondie."

Vince looks stunned for a second, then bursts into his sunshiny grin all the girls went crazy for," Awww, you do care about me!"

Mick rises to his feet with a soft chuckle," You should know that, kid. You're like a little brother to me." He ruffles Vince's hair.

"Y'know, you're the one who looks like the little brother, shortstack", Vince quips, using his hand to pat Mick's head, highlighting their six-inch height difference.

Mick growls, blushing in embarrassment," Fuck off, barbie..."

Vince just laughs.

After spending the day clipping newspapers and playing guitar, Mick is finally on his way to work. The agency he worked for had called him in, demanding progress on Dr. Lee.

Mars' heart was racing, palms sweating and rendering the steering wheel hard to grip.

He has nothing. All he has are his initial discoveries: Dr. Lee is tall and lanky, he wears a long, white lab coat, dishwashing gloves, and black slacks. He's thought to hideout somewhere in the local woods. But these facts are obvious. Even the citizens know them, presenting them in the horror stories they tell by the fire on late, eerie nights.

The detective chews his lip, sipping his ever-present cup of cold, black coffee. How does Dr. Lee manage to evade authorities if he dresses in such an eccentric manner and seems to stay in one, isolated place of town? If the rumors are true about his elusive cabin, into which his victims are dragged, never to step back over the threshold.

The thought of being captured himself by this demon sends a shiver down Mick's spine. He had heard unspeakably horrific stories of what the evil 'doctor' inflicted upon his catches, most of which Mars can't think of without inducing anxiety and fear within himself.

The raven can feel his entire body starting to shake as he parks. He turns off the engine and remains in the vehicle, laying his head back and closing his eyes. Mick draws in a deep breath and slowly exhales, repeating the action ten times.

He likes to think he's brave, but in reality, Dr. Lee scares him just as much as he scares the rest of the world. 'I have to remember why I'm on this case. To bring that monster to justice, so everyone can live without fear and walk the streets with smiles on their faces.'

He wraps his pale fingers around the cold, metal handle of the agency's front door," Looks like I'll just have to present what I have."

He walks in and checks in with the secretary, Nikki of course, before heading off to the meeting room. The tile floor is clean enough to gleam like mirrors, the walls as smooth and spotless as a freshly laid egg. The smell of lemon furniture polish and spa water hangs in the air, reminding Mick of how strict and prestigious his agency really is.

The small man reaches the heavy, mahogany doors of the meeting room. House plants sit on either side like guards at the gates of Hell. Mars pulls his shoulders back, trying to seem brave and important as he slowly pushes the doors open.

He swallows thickly, freezing in the doorway when he's presented with the board of directors, staring coldly at him. They were all harsh, stiff, strict middle-aged men, their eyes narrowed to show off the hard lines at the corner of his eyes.

One of them, Chief Thompson, folds his hands, his mustache quirking with his quizzical expression," Have a seat, Mars."

Mick obeys," Y-Yes, sir." He mentally curses himself for stuttering and sits up straighter, puffing his chest out.

Chief Thompson narrows his eyes," Tell us...what is your progress on the case of serial killer Dr. Lee?"

Mick struggles to keep his voice calm," I-I have not made progress beyond initial claims. H-He simply leaves no traces. It's like he doesn't even exist. B-But I assure you I-I know he must be one of the townsfolk..."

A thick tension hangs in the air, and the state detective nervously wrings his fingers as six pairs of eyes bore into him for what feels like thirty minutes.

The sound of the clock on the wall seems to echo, muffled as if the meeting room is filled with water.

Tik, tik, tik....

Finally, Chief Thompson sighs complacently stroking his mustache," Detective Mars, you are no doubt aware of the chaos Dr. Lee brings...he needs to be stopped and you have so far proven inadequate. You have been on this case for four years and have nothing for us in all that time."

Mick's heart stops," Wh-What are you saying...?" Anxiety floods his systems again as he's finaly faced with the consequences of his futile research and wasted nights. What are they going to do? He has a spotless record on all his other cases But the agency has been extremel strict when it came to Dr. Lee.

Then, Chief Thompson laces his fingers beneath his chin and speaks, voice enforced with iron. He makes sure Mick knows there's no changing his mind.

"I'm saying...if you don't show a significant change in pace within the next six months...you're. fired."


End file.
